Black Hearts
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: Judge Turpin has to die. Only now Mrs Lovett is the one out for revenge. - A story that deals with the baker's darkest side and in the end might just unite her with her demon barber. Multi chap Sweenett. Rated for violence and kinky business in general.
1. chapter one- Mrs Lovett's POV

Ooh I'm doing something I haven't done in a long time... attempting to write a multi-chapter fic. I do have a story figured out and all but I really need your support on this. I know there aren't as many people around as there used to be but please, please give me a chance, take your time to read this and leave me a review.

If you would be interested in more chapters then you shall get them..

Basically this story, much like the movie, is about vengeance... only that dear sweet Eleanor is the one who's slowly losing her mind. Fret not- it's still a Sweenett story, but a pretty dark one. The rating might even go up at some point.

Disclaimer: do I really need to point out that I don't own the material? because I don't.

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**BLACK HEARTS**

**_chapter one - _**_Mrs Lovett'__s POV_**_  
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"I hereby sentence you to be hung by the neck until dead. May the Lord have mercy on your soul."

The final _thump_ of wood on wood as the hammer connected with the stand was like a slap to her pale, tear-stained cheek and Mrs Lovett felt her legs give way beneath her. If not for the strong grip Mr Todd had on her she would surely have fallen to the ground but the barber steadied her, features as unreadable as a stone statue and lacking emotion just as such. What hurt the baker so much was that it wasn't she who was to find her violent end at the rope but her beloved boy, Tobias Ragg, the orphan she had taken in and come to love so dearly. And the lad hadn't even committed a crime; at least she didn't think so. It was only that his dark past had caught up to him and he hadn't been completely honest with her as to how he had come to be Signor Pirelli's assistant. Poor little bugger had fled the workhouse and run straight into the self-named "Italian's" arms, who had given him the choice between the slavery of the workhouse or the job as his personal punching bag. Obviously Toby couldn't have gone back, so the latter it was. Sadly, fortune wasn't on his side and as he'd been out running errands for Mrs Lovett he'd got caught by the director of the workhouse who promptly took him to the Beadle.

And now here they were, helplessly watching as an innocent little boy was being sentenced to death.

For a moment his big eyes met hers, filled with fear and begging for help she knew she should but couldn't provide. It broke her already aching heart, knowing how betrayed the lad felt and yet unable to comfort him. The boy was lead away into his cell where he would remain until his death scheduled for the next day. And Eleanor Lovett would be damned if she couldn't bloody save her little Toby. The entire walk home she was lost in her own world, trying to wrap her mind around what had happened and trying to think of something- anything- that might help the boy. Once back in her shop she went straight to the kitchen, hoping that the familiar mixing of dough was going take her mind off things. She was already roaming around her shelves when the barber dropped down in a booth and heaved a heavy sigh. She looked up at her companion but didn't say a word, which obviously made him uncomfortable. He raised an eye-brow, beckoning her to speak.

Mrs Lovett stayed silent.

For the better part of three hours she kept herself occupied by kneading dough, rolling it out and baking everything from meat-pies to biscuits. It didn't make her feel any better, quite the opposite actually. The tasks made her painfully aware of Toby's absence and more than once she found herself muttering an order before the day's events came rushing back to her. She didn't even register that she was shaking with sobs until the barber pried the rolling pin from her hands and awkwardly enveloped her in a hug. With nothing but pure desperation she clung to him, staining his shirt and vest with her salty tears and he let her, enduring her need for comfort. Once her cries had died down and no new tears would come she abruptly let go of him and stormed out in the direction of her bedchamber. The baker needed to be alone, needed to find a plan, but a sickening gut feeling already told her that it was too late. There wasn't anything she could do, except getting herself hung as well. And maybe that's what she deserved, after all. A slow, painful death by either suffocation or a broken neck, just like her foster son. The metallic taste of blood suddenly filled her mouth as she let go of her bottom lip a little too late. She ran her tongue over the spot where her teeth had parted the flesh and balled her fists, cursing herself for the old habit. When a knock sounded at her door she was tempted to yell a number of curses but just sighed in defeat and dropped back onto her bed. Mr Todd entered silently, his graceful movements reminding her of those of a panther. Deadly yet beautiful. The mattress sank as his weight was added to the bed but she didn't move a muscle to acknowledge his close proximity. Their bodies didn't touch, he made sure of that, and it seemed like an invisible line was effectively keeping them apart. His presence alone was reassuring and soon she felt her eyelids droop, the exhaustion she had overplayed all day finally winning her body over again. Within ten minutes she was out cold.

Mrs Lovett awoke to the expectation of rain and thunder, a weather matching her mood, but instead sun flooded the house as she opened her eyes and somehow this was comforting and devastating at the same time. Comforting because it was a tiny consolation knowing that the last thing Toby saw would be the sun and blue skies, devastating because the weather was a rarity and she would surely never be able to enjoy it again. She noticed that she had slept dreamlessly for hours, fully clothed, and went up to free herself of her corset. Every breath she could get she'd need to survive this day. The regained ability to suck in a sufficient amount of air cleared her head and she finally let her gaze wander to the clock on the wall, regretting it the moment she did.

Tobias Ragg's last hour had struck. Literally.

The horrified scream was never voiced, instead she immediately rushed about the room, gathering a coat and scarf into her arms before she violently collided with Sweeney Todd who had in the meantime also woken up and realized the hour. Without a word he followed her, never more than a step behind as she raced through the crowded streets to where the public executions were held. Her heart somersaulted when she spotted the familiar head of dark hair in a group of five boys, all roughly the same age and without looking back at the barber she pushed through the crowd, a heart-wrecking cry of "_Toby_" breaking from her lips.

The boy lifted his head but didn't see her until she bumped into him and almost crushed him in a motherly embrace- from which he promptly tried to escape, wiggling his tiny frame out of her arms. Hurt crossed her features but she tried to not let it show and stay neutral. "I'm so sorry, love," she whispered in defeat.

"Y'di'n't even do anything, ma'am. Nothin' at all- just left me ta die."

She knew his words were the truth, still it felt like he was stabbing her with a dagger time and time again. "Nothing, I coulda done, Toby, believe me, if there was I-"

"No," he cut her off, his small fist connecting with her chest, "I'm not him," he nodded into Mr Todd's direction, "him you would've saved in a 'eartbeat, even if it killed ya."

Again she knew the little boy in front of her was right and had to swallow hard, disgusted by herself and her priorities. "Toby, love, I never wanted-"

"Just tell me one thing, Mrs Lovett," he pleaded, "Jus' so I can die in peace."

His blunt phrasing made her cringe, but she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Anything."

"Did 'e do it? Did 'e kill Pirelli?" The boy's gaze went past her, meeting the barber's steely glare.

After a moment's hesitation she just nodded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes and once again she had to bite her already sore lip to keep her composure.

"Guess I 'ave to thank ya for being honest with me for once," Toby said coldly as he looked at her again, straightening up. He looked nothing like a child any more, she realised, instead he was all grown up now.

When the executioner grabbed him by the dirty collar, Toby didn't even flinch, his expression determined as he was shoved up the five steps together with the other boys. The baker was shaking with fear, rage and confusion as she watched in horror how the noose was placed around her boy's neck, how he was mockingly patted on the head before a bag was pulled over it... how the floor dropped away beneath him, leaving a struggling figure fighting with death.

For how long she stood there paralysed by what she had witnessed she didn't know but suddenly she felt a familiar presence next to her and a strong arm found its way around her waist, pulling her away from the scene. Mrs Lovett felt completely numb as she was being navigated through the crowd, hearing the insults spat toward the dead children hanging from the ropes but unable to respond, seeing the smile on the faces of men and women alike but unable to do anything about it. She felt like she was wrapped in wool, all sound dull and her vision not clear.

That was until she saw the Judge.

All of a sudden she felt like she could break free from the mind-numbing blanket of horror that surrounded her and she yanked her arm from the barber's grip to rush up to the oh so respected man of the law.

"'ow the 'ell can you live with yourself?!" She roared furiously, her fingers almost ripping at the fabric of Turpin's coat.

"Mrs Lovett!" he exclaimed in surprise, easily prying her off him and shoving her away before brushing a hand over his clothing as if she had stained it with her mere presence alone.

"'e was only a boy! They all were!"

"Before the law, we're all the same, I'm afraid. And this brute of yours... well, let's just say he's better off in God's hands," a sick grin spread on the Judge's face as he uttered these words and it made her want to kill him but before she could claw his eyes out the Beadle held out his cane in a threatening gesture, effectively stopping her mid-motion.  
"I do blame your behaviour on the... difficult situation. But be assured that it won't be tolerated another minute. You can call yourself lucky that I did not sentence you to hang beside that little criminal, after all it was you who provided him shelter while he was on the run. And if this assault goes on I might just have to change my mind."

"Are you threatening me?" Mrs Lovett cried out before she was silenced by a hand she recognised as Mr Todd's covering her mouth from behind.

"No! Dear God no, Mrs Lovett. Threatening you is not at all my intention. I am merely... introducing you to the facts," again that sickening grin turned the Judge's face into a grimace. "Have a nice day." He turned around and walked a couple of steps before facing them once more. "Oh and Mr Todd? I do hope to get around to visiting your Tonsorial Parlour soon. Beadle Bamford has told me only the best." The Beadle, too, smiled disgustingly and the pair disappeared in the crowd.

The baker was fuming with rage, sending a death glare after the Judge and his little lapdog. Mr Todd's hand left her mouth and she all but snarled, her fury needing an outlet to break free. She didn't notice that she was walking until she recognized the first houses of Fleet Street. No tears would come when she was finally in the privacy of her own house again, even though she willed them to flow more than anything, desperate for the emotional release.

Mr Todd left her alone that night but she heard his restless pacing until it was way past midnight. Sleep it seemed would come to neither of them. For a very long time she sat motionlessly on her unmade bed, staring at her shoes until she knew the pattern decorating them by heart. She was terrified of closing her eyes and seeing the day's images come rushing back, and felt eerily empty as if nothing was of importance any more. Toby wasn't the only child she had lost. Contrary to popular belief she had been with child when Albert Lovett had had his heart attack, leaving her and the life growing inside her alone forever. A month later she had bled and even without seeing a doctor she had known that her unborn baby had joined her late husband. It was without doubt to her now that she was simply not meant to be a mother.

"Mrs Lovett?" a velvety voice called her out of her reverie and she realised she was cradling her abdomen as a result of her melancholy.

"Come in, dear," she said weakly. He entered just as silently as the day before, crossed the small room in two large steps and came to a halt next to where she was seated on her mattress. The barber eyed her suspiciously for a minute before clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away from her.

"I was wondering... if I could interest you in some food." He spoke in a low murmur and only now did she see that he was holding a plate with the biscuits she had made.

"It's in the middle of the bloody night, Mr T, I don' think that's the best time to eat."

Her sarcasm earned her a dark glare. "Eleanor, you haven't eaten ever since they took the boy away, sooner or later you'll need some food."

His words brought back all her grief and worries at once and it physically hurt her to recall the moment the police officer had dragged her beloved little apprentice out the door, still she snorted disapprovingly at the barber. "May I remind you that you are the expert when it comes to not eating? Since you are still here to lecture me, I think I'll be fine, thank you very much."

The ear shattering sound of porcelain hitting the floor made her jump. Sweeney Todd was no longer next to her but across the room again, his fist violently connecting with the wall. In moments such as this she felt sick with fear but unable to move. His rage was intriguing and terrifying at the same time. In an attempt to calm her racing heartbeat she sat back against the headboard of her bed and pulled her knees up to her chest, closing her eyes.

To her disappointment it had the opposite effect of calming her. The very instant her eyes fell shut she saw a dangling figure hanging from a rope, heard the snickering crowd, felt the Beadle's cane pressed to her chest. Mrs Lovett desperately willed her eyes to open again but to no avail, it was like she was stuck in a nightmare. In her panic she screamed until her throat was sore but no sound , or so it seemed, would leave her lips. She tried to flail her arms to get Mr Todd's attention but her limbs were heavy as lead and it took too much effort to move.

"_ELEANOR_!"

Her lungs were flooded with air again- she hadn't realised that she'd been holding her breath. She was pinned to the bed by the barber whose eyes were still filled with insanity but showed a faint glimmer of concern. "Wot's 'appened?" she asked shakily, her voice thinner than ever before.

"Goddamnit, you tell me, woman!" Mr Todd exclaimed helplessly, "One moment you act like you're fine and next I hear you bloody screaming as if the Grim Reaper was after you!"

At that moment she desired nothing more than be by herself. "Leave me alone. Please."

The baker could see that her tenant was thinking of ignoring her plea but in the end he left with an annoyed shake of his head, throwing the door shut behind him with a bang. Once again alone with her thoughts Mrs Lovett stared into the flame of the candle on her bedside table and slowly, very slowly indeed, a vicious little idea began to form in her mind. Funny how much things could change in merely a week, she thought to herself, suddenly no emotion left in her being.

She had already become a murderer's accomplice, had studied the barber's countless corpses and watched him "shave" his customers. The razor's sharp blade danced gracefully across the victim's skin before piercing it and more than once had she wondered what it felt like to handle the bodies she so routinely chopped up when they were still living, breathing human beings. The longer she dwelled on these images the clearer became her plan.

For the first time since Sweeney Todd had come back and begun his killing spree for vengeance she understood where his bloodlust came from, could vividly picture the relief it brought. The moment just before death probably came with immense pain and in that very moment the life of whoever had to suffer this murderous madness was off far worse than the murderer himself. Instead of the tears she had been waiting for, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Yes, Mrs Eleanor Lovett had a plan now. The details still needed to be settled, of course, but a goal was set and that goal was to be achieved, even if it was the last she ever did in her petty existence. In a way she had been working on the carrying out of the plan all along, but now that she truly understood the concept of revenge everything was different. _She_ was now different.

The quest was the same. Judge Turpin had to die.

Only she would be the one to kill him.


	2. chapter two- Sweeney's POV

Holy Cupcakes I do apologise for my absence but a lot of shit happened and also I'm lazy.  
It's amazing how many reviews I got though, thank you so much! I cannot say how much I appreciate that, honestly. You're all amazing.

I like how this chapter turned out, so I hope you do too... that's what reviews are for ;)  
might be a stronger T or mild M rating for swearing, sexual references and some more graphic violence, but come on that kinda comes with the fandom, right? ^^

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I had the rights to Sweeney Todd Sweenett would totally happen. Since it doesn't: I don't own the material.

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**BLACK HEARTS**

_**chapter two **\- Sweeney's POV_

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The rhythmic tapping of raindrops hitting glass was the only sound filling the room as Sweeney Todd's black orbs observed the little droplets racing down the windowpane. His mind was, for once, not completely focused on Judge Turpin and his crippling desire for revenge on him but instead his thoughts raced around his landlady downstairs. Following the night he had stormed out of her sleeping quarters in blind rage after being victim of _her_ blind rage things had gone back to normal, which was exactly what caused his... _concern_, if you liked to call it that.

She was back to her constantly babbling self, rushing about her shop, rolling pin in hand and flour on her dress, sending out smiles and flirtatious winks like she could never tire of it, yet when one looked closely it could be well observed that her usually bright eyes held a hard edge to them. If anyone knew what he was talking about it was the Demon Barber himself, having patented that expression and seen it a thousand times in the pained eyes of the man staring back at him from the mirror. Only seeing the coldness in _her_ eyes, usually functioning as somewhat of an anchor for him_\- though he'd rather cut himself than admit that_\- was almost painful to watch, especially because there was nothing he could do. She had that habit of hers where she would talk and talk and talk but never _say_ anything and while he had initially thought it was just mindless chatter, he had since his return learned that she very well knew how to use her words in a way that kept herself shielded.  
Involuntarily his hands balled into fists, knuckles turning whiter than they already were, as he recalled the one time he had attempted to talk to her after their late night argument, trying one last uncharacteristically gentle approach on the subject of Toby's passing by unthreateningly cornering her in the bakehouse.

She had patted his cheek mockingly and shrugged it off with a smile- _that affected him in no way whatsoever of course_\- before brushing past him with a muttered "pies don't serve 'emselves now, dearie, do they?"

That was about the only direct verbal exchange between the pair and that was unnerving, he thought. He had heard her break down, hell she had even bloody _cried on his shoulder_ on one occasion, because of the damned execution and now all of a sudden he was supposed to believe that she had miraculously found a way to deal with her grief? No. He was not so daft as to belief such a thing. His landlady's avoiding him supported his theory that things were even more messed up than he dared to think.

_Couldn't the bloody woman be straightforward this once?! _

He wanted her to yell, shriek, curse and whatever she needed to get her pain out of her system, instead of this damned composure she showed. It was her intention to look normal, he suspected as much, and to everyone it might seem that way but he knew the truth. Why that was he dared not think about.

What he noticed additionally to the baker's strange behaviour was the decreasing amount of mouths to fill in her shop. The boy's so-called 'crime' had badly affected her business and in consequence his as well, considering that he simply couldn't kill more people than Mrs Lovett was able to process into pies, which was undeniably quite frustrating and another reason why he was increasingly annoyed with the situation.

Heaving a deep sigh he shook some of the tenseness out of his shoulders and began pacing the room in his usual manner, considering whether or not it was worth the effort to make some tea on the small hearth in the corner but deciding against it out of sheer laziness. His gaze flicked to the door leading from his living area to his landlady's premises downstairs several times but he was unsure if it was out of his desire to go down there or if he simply waited for her to randomly appear as she had taken to do most days before the unfortunate... _incident_.

It was rather odd, him feeling the need for her company, for _any_ company, and he was very close to giving in and paying the shop below his own a visit when the bell at his door gave a jingle and a middle-aged man entered, hat and coat soaked from the merciless rainstorm still raging outside. He chose this to be one of the rare shaves he finished without a bloodbath, quickly freeing the bloke of his stubble and accepting his thanks and payment with a subtle nod of his head. The customer left and the barber frowned, tired of wasting his time when he clearly desired to go and socialise, as strange as that may seem.

Two minutes later, after locking his door and hesitating at the top of the stairs, he found himself in the midst of what was supposed to be the dinner rush. The utter lack thereof, however, explained the silence that had accompanied his earlier brooding. A couple of tables were occupied by the usual drunkards but otherwise he was met by free space which had become a rarity since the grand re-opening. Mrs Lovett was sitting on some man's thigh, arm thrown loosely around his broad shoulders while he was steadying her around the waist. It was an image that Mr Todd was used to, she did it in order to keep her regulars happy, even though the whore technically didn't need to... not that her behaviour bothered him in any way. The slut could do whatever she wanted and she was still grieving a great loss, as much as she overplayed it with something else, after all.

He cleared his throat to make his presence known, drawing a strange satisfaction out of the fact that Mrs Lovett's eyes widened slightly and she all but jumped off the bloke, immediately straightening out her apron and dress. Were it not for his annoyance he would have smirked and spat some dirty remark at her.

"What's wrong, doll?" slurred the mountain of meat whose thigh she had previously occupied, "'s 'e your bloke?"

An unfocused drunken glare was shot into his direction but the barber shrugged it off, turning to leave again because with this little customers there was no excuse for him to stay. He was held back by a small hand on his shoulder. Silently he cursed the unwanted_\- or so he told himself_\- reaction of his body to the simple touch.

"Need somethin', Mr T?" asked Mrs Lovett in a voice that would seem soft to anyone else but he recognised the hostility it held.

"I was wondering if you needed help, but apparently that is not the case." He looked at her over his shoulder when she pulled her hand back.

"Slow day, huh?"

He nodded. "'S the rain. Not many people leaving their houses and such," he lied, knowing full well why no one could be bothered with her services.

"I suppose." She, too, nodded her head once, fiery corkscrew curls bobbing up and down. After that awkward silence settled between them as he held her gaze, silently telling her that he could see through her charade and would not put up with her stubbornness for much longer. Their staring contest was interrupted when a new customer entered the shop- not necessarily seeking food but shelter from the weather- and gave Mrs Lovett an excuse to step away. He heard her mumble a silent "_Thank God_" under breath.

_Bitch_, he thought, suddenly reluctant to leave just to get on her nerves for a little while. He was going easy on her most of the time, she would certainly survive a bit of a harsher treatment. So he casually strolled behind a counter to where he knew she kept the gin, fully aware of the pair of hazel eyes following his every move. He smirked shamelessly and filled up a glass with about two fingers of gin, demonstratively taking a sip when he caught her glare.  
As soon as the new arrival was happily sipping tea Mrs Lovett rushed over to the still mildly smirking barber and smacked his arm.

"Just what d'ya thing you're doing?" she hissed so no one of the people seated at the tables would hear the exchange.

"Drinking," he said in a self-explanatory fashion and re-filled his glass.

"I can bloody well see that!"

He shrugged and emptied the glass in one gulp, grimacing when the liquid burned his throat. Mrs Lovett sighed exasperatedly and took both the tumbler and glass from him, only to pour herself a generous amount of the clear liquid and downing it in one go, mimicking his earlier actions. For one fraction of a second he saw her expression change, the full force of her agony showing in her eyes as she stared at the alcoholic beverage, probably reminded of Toby's weakness for it. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again the mask was back in place.

_-Damn it, just let it out, woman!-_

He was annoyed with himself for even giving a shit, blaming it on the alcohol although he hadn't drunk nearly enough to be affected in any way. He got another glass from the shelf behind him and filled both containers with a sufficient amount of gin, not necessarily planning to get them drunk but also not keen on staying in this awkward state of sobriety. The pair drank in silence, customers somewhat forgotten and their animated laughter becoming merely a buzz in the background. For a long while neither did anything but empty and refill glasses before she decidedly put an end to it by moving the bottle out of his reach.

"'nough for a day, eh?" she smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Two of the men in the booths had passed out and he took on the task of dragging them outside, confident that the rain would to a splendid job in waking and sobering them up. Meanwhile the few other customers said their goodbyes and reluctantly stepped out into the disgusting weather themselves, doubting the barber would hesitate to throw them out in a similar fashion as the two drunks before them. In the end only the mountain of a man that had so conveniently functioned as Mrs Lovett's chair earlier was left, showing no signs of departing. The barber sent his landlady a questioning glance, asking if he should throw him out. The redhead shook her curls and walked closely past him, whispering "just play along."

Her behaviour baffled him but she certainly had his curiosity so he somewhat hesitantly followed her lead. The man eyed her hungrily, especially the generous amount of cleavage she showed, and extended a calloused hand which she took.

"So where were we earlier, doll?" he asked, his intentions all too clear. Mr Todd shuddered involuntarily in disgust as images of... certain _activities_ involving the bloke, the baker, and her bedroom flooded his mind. She better had a good reason for making him witness the exchange or he would find a way to get back at her. Revenge was, after all, what he lived for.

"First... why don't you go upstairs for a shave?" she said in a voice that was both dirty and incredibly sweet at the same time. And suddenly he understood what she was getting at. Well, not completely but he had an idea at least.

"Don' like the stubble, do ya? Well, in tha' case I migh' jus' take you up on tha' offer," he said, grabbing the baker's behind in a fashion so inappropriate it forced the barber to avert his gaze from the scene until the pair approached him.

"Fresh supplies," the baker whispered only for him to hear after she had sent the giant ahead to Mr Todd's tonsorial parlour, telling him to '_get comfy up there'_.

The barber felt a familiar wave of anticipation rush over him at the thought of precious rubies staining his friends and on its own accord his hand wandered to the silver blade at his belt, fingering the item fondly, before Mrs Lovett interrupted the moment he was having by grabbing his wrist- _which did not send a bolt of electricity through his arm, no sir_\- and towed him toward the stairs. He stopped at the first step and raised an eyebrow.

"I want to watch," she said earnestly as she looked at him, her expression grave. He could not quite hinder the surprise he felt showing on his features, strangely excited by the thought of having her observe him. The two of them climbed the steps at a quick pace, both trying not to look too eager so as not to make the man in the barber's chair suspicious any earlier than strictly necessary. Sweeney flipped the razor open in a swift movement once he stood behind the soon-to-be victim, making eye-contact with the baker, who had taken a seat on the chest he had so conveniently stored Pirelli in, but couldn't sit still.

"Can ya 'urry up?" the man in the chair grunted impatiently, causing both the barber and baker to jump a bit.

"My apologies," said Todd, voice low and not as smooth as he had intended, as began spreading shaving cream over the bloke's face simultaneously motioning for Mrs Lovett to come closer. In a moment she was by his side, near enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her tiny body. The first few strokes were still for alibi purposes and to draw out the experience as long as possible. The barber found it exciting in an entirely different manner than expected to have his landlady watch him, see her eyes clouded with something he couldn't quite place. For a few moments he wondered if his expression matched hers and if the gin they had consumed previously was having an effect on him after all.

Her breathing quickened and she absentmindedly took a hold of his vest, the unexpected touch breaking his concentration easier than it should have. -_Curse the damned witch_.

"Do it," she whispered, clawing her fingers further into the fabric of his clothing.

"Patience," he breathed, making the mistake of meeting her gaze. She was looking up at him with a mixture of fear, wonder and something he could only call madness. It was utterly arousing in its own way, catching him off-guard and stopping his actions mid-motion.

"Do it, Mr T," she repeated more urgently, letting go of him and taking a step back, another emotion added to the range already showing in her eyes. _Lust_. He swallowed hard and nodded his head, trying hard not to be distracted by the imagery his mind provided... which was not that different from what he'd thought about in the kitchen downstairs, the only change being that _he_ was now involved in the activities in the baker's bedroom instead of the man currently occupying his chair. His pants became uncomfortably tight at the thought and he tore his eyes away from the little baker, again attending to the task of shaving.

Until he decided that there had been enough of this nonsensical foreplay and let the predator inside lose, moving the razor from his- _their_\- victim's chin downwards. On instinct the man's eyes shot open, pupils dilated, sudden cold sweat breaking out on his forehead, ability to move or speak impaired. A faint malicious grin spread on the Demon Barber's face as he pressed the blade against the main artery, careful to not yet pierce the skin. He reached blindly behind him, catching the baker's wrist and pulling her toward him until he could trap her between himself and the chair, '_accidentally_' rubbing himself against her and drawing pleasure from the fact that her breath caught in her throat and she pushed back into him ever so slightly.

"Feel his pulse," he whispered into her ear, inhaling her scent.- _Flour, ale and dust, as always_.- She hesitated so he caught her hand again and gently replaced the razor with her finger, pressing down until he was sure she could feel the man's erratic heartbeat. "Now," he continued just as low and hoarse as before, an idea coming to him, "do you just wish to watch, _or_, Mrs Lovett, would you like to...-"

He was cut off by a small, shaking hand grabbing his as the redhead leaned back the slightest bit so she could whisper right back, warm breath fanning against the side of his face. And the one word that left her lips then was enough to send his head spinning in that marvellously strange way only she could cause. "Together."

With that he moved the razor in his hand so she was the one holding it while he covered her petite fingers with his so as to guide the movement. Ecstasy and arousal hung thickly in the air between them as he moved the silver blade against the man's throat in a fashion so deliciously slow, the pair could perfectly observe his death. All too soon his gurgling and spasms ceased and his eyes, forever frozen in an icy stare of blank terror, glazed over. Barber and baker stood completely still, breathing ragged, hands still tangled around the cold blade, now dripping with thick dark liquid.

"That was... incredible," Mrs Lovett broke the silence, slumping back against him as if she had just done something utterly exhausting.

"I didn't know you had it in you," he said, wiping the razor on the body's bloodied shirt and not stepping away, intending to keep the baker hostage between himself and his chair.

She turned around, slowly inching closer and running a hand agonizingly slowly down his chest until it stopped at his belt just above the bulge in his pinstriped pants.

_God_, the woman was such a bloody _tease_.

Their faces were barely an inch apart, her lips almost brushing against his whenever either of them took a shallow breath, but before he could close the distance between them she moved past his lips, leaned up and whispered in his ear: "There's a lot of things y'don't know about me, Sweeney Todd..." she moved away from him, eyes briefly darting to his lips, "...An' I intend to keep it tha' way."  
With that she turned, calling out '_send the bloke down, will ya!_' as she descended the stairs.

Had he not seen the faint blush colouring her cheeks and his desire mirrored in her eyes, he would almost have believed her feigned indifference and he was certain that, were he to just go after her, she would surely give in but he wasn't that desperate. It was _Mrs Lovett_. He had merely felt this... strong physical attraction... because of the situation they had found themselves in.

Or so he tried to convince himself as he sent the lifeless body sliding down into the darkness of the bakehouse.


	3. chapter three- Mrs Lovett's POV

*sighs* This is _exactly_ the reason why I usually write one-shots.  
I know my updating intervals are terrible but I'm easily distracted and it takes me forever to form my ideas into presentable sentences.  
This chapter took me about 5 hours to write. That's a bit over a page an hour.

Anyways, now it's here and there'll be two more chapters after this.

Um, also lemme know if I should change the rating to M, y'know it's not that explicit yet but that'll come in one of the following chapters.

Disclaimer:Nope, still don't own Sweeney Todd. Seems a downright shame. Seems an awful waste.

Happy reading and please drop a review on the way out :)

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**BLACK HEARTS**

**chapter three**\- _Mrs Lovett's POV_

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Her body was shaking with the adrenaline rush that came with the kill, heart hammering against her ribcage so hard, she was afraid it might in fact burst her chest wide open if it kept going like this. Additionally to her erratic heartbeat and breathing that would better be described as _panting_ her brain was going a hundred miles an hour.

_What had just happened?_

She had just murdered someone. Slit his throat with one of Mr. T's friends as if she'd done it a million times before and she had _liked_ it. Somehow that realization came with a thrill instead of a shock and the baker felt a vicious little smile pulling at her lips as she thought of how much power she had felt in those few moments that she had watched the life drain from the bloke in the barber's chair. And oh she was very well aware that Mr. Todd had not been unaffected either, blood rushing into inappropriate places and all. A blush warmed her cheeks as she thought of the aroused state in which she had so coldly left him upstairs but it felt good to have him suffering for once, their relationship having suddenly taken a turn of one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. And _God_, she liked having the upper hand and the barber lusting after her like she had after him for all the years they had known each other.

Nevertheless, saying that she didn't care at all was a lie, of course, and one of grand scale at that. _Of course _she wanted him in _that_ way and frankly… she had not the faintest idea where her strength to act all indifferent had come from. By now, as the ecstasy that had come with the bloodlust was quickly fading- _explaining why he had to kill so often to satisfy his needs_\- the memories of the tangible sexual tension between the pair grew more prominent. And she found herself panting again for an entirely different reason. The magic of the moment was gone, however, and there was no way she could return to his upstairs premises now and shag him senseless in that stupid chair of his although it's what she absolutely wanted to do.

To distract herself the baker went into her kitchen and started to clean up the mess her few daytime customers had created, wiping off tables with a damp piece of cloth and sweeping the wooden floorboards until the room looked more or less presentable again. Outside Fleet Street was illuminated by the weak light of the few lit lanterns. The rain had ceased but it was still terribly windy, all kinds of flyers blowing along the cobblestones. Mrs. Lovett shivered just looking at the unpleasant weather.

Once she had washed all the dishes- well '_washed'_ is a very generous term to use- she decided to retire to her room. In front of her mirror she caught a glimpse of herself and was slightly taken aback by the state she was in. Her hair was horribly tangled, even more than on any other day, and her dress was covered in tiny rust coloured spots, which she recognised as blood upon closer inspection. _Must've been too preoccupied ta notice_, she thought.

The baker changed into her nightgown and attempted to free her matted curls from pie ingredients and the pins she used to keep it out of her face- mostly unsuccessfully. Once she was too annoyed to continue she crossed the room and threw back the covers in order to climb into her bed. Snugly wrapped into a cocoon of blankets Mrs. Lovett allowed her eyes to drift shut, hoping her recurring nightmare of five little boys with Toby's facial features hanging from ropes would leave her alone.

It didn't.

Some hours after her breathing had evened out she began thrashing around, kicking at thin air as if she was running toward the children, wanting nothing more that to help but unable to close the distance between herself and them no matter how fast she seemed to run. The crowd of people around seemed to be closing in on her, blocking her way further until there was no path left, no way to get to the dying children. They all lifted their gaze simultaneously, eyes already glazed over with death staring right into her soul. _"Y'di'n't even do anything, ma'am... just left me ta die,"_ they said in one monotone voice, repeating what Toby had said to her during their last encounter. _No_, she wanted to scream, _no no NO!_ But there was no use. They all died, one little orphaned Tobias Ragg after another, until she had witnessed his death five more times. And then there was the Judge, of course, circling her like the vulture he was, smirking that unmistakably Turpin way of his. Usually this was the part where she wanted to punch his ugly face but found herself unable to move a muscle...

But suddenly the dream changed.

This time she could actually lift her right arm, finding a heavy silver object resting in her hand and recognising it as one of Sweeney Todd's razors. She would be daft not to use it, right? With one quick motion neither the Judge nor the Beadle ever saw coming she swiftly dragged the silver blade across Turpin's throat, feeling the red liquid splash onto her face, quickly cooling on her skin. But one fatal gash was not in any way satisfactory, too great was the hatred toward the man of the law. Time and again she stabbed him, not stopping at the throat but also tearing open his vest and repeatedly cutting the flesh of the man's torso until he was a dishevelled mess of torn fabric and blood at her feet. They were alone now, the baker towering above the lifeless body as she wiped the razor on her apron, happy with her torture.

Mrs. Lovett sat up, instantly wide awake. Her nightgown was soaked in sweat and her heart beat unevenly, matching her breath. She let her eyes wander around the room, terrified and still lightheaded at the very same time. The dream had been more vivid than any other before and she still somewhat felt the blood splatter onto her cheeks. It wasn't like herself, getting so much pleasure from this amount of violence, which was more of a Sweeney thing. Yet here she was, sitting upright in the middle of her mattress, replaying the scene from her dream over and over again in her head while wearing a dark smile.

She felt like she had reached a point at which 'going back' was no longer an option.

As the baker awoke several hours later she still felt unsettled by the night's events but decided to act like nothing had happened, knowing that Mr. Todd was watching her very closely as of late and would certainly notice even the slightest change in her behaviour. She settled on wearing a fairly new dress which she was sure he had not yet seen her wear, hoping it would keep his focus on her chest and therefore distract him enough not to ask questions. Happy with her choice of attire she lazily pinned her hair back into a single chaotic bun and left her private quarters to prepare breakfast for Mr. Todd and herself as well as put the first batch of already prepared pastries into her oven in preparation for her lunchtime customers.

With a half-smile on her lips she took the inside staircase up to the barber shop and burst in without bothering to announce herself first. He was standing by the window, staring down at the street with his arms folded casually over his chest.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said, which was more of a greeting than she usually got.

"'ello, dearie," she chimed happily, "brought ya some tea an' a couple o' biscuits." He didn't turn to face her but she caught his gaze in the windowpane. "I'll jus' leave it 'ere on the chest, love. Don't let the tea cool off." After placing the tray in her hands where she said she would the baker turned to leave again, not expecting the barber to speak up.

"Wait!" he called out a bit too loudly before clearing his throat and continuing in a way much more composed as he turned around. "Did you have a nightmare last night?" As expected his eyes came to rest on her chest and for a moment he seemed too distracted to even care about her answer. She crossed her arms, provocatively pushing her breasts up further.

"What's it matter to you?"

Mr. Todd swallowed once before meeting her eyes. "You screamed. So hysterically in fact that I thought you were being assaulted and ran downstairs only to find you asleep in your bed. Alone."

A devious smirk appeared on her face and she took a couple of steps into his direction, shamelessly invading his personal space. "Now don' tell me you was _worried_ 'bout old Eleanor..." her voice trailed off, one hand coming to rest just above his heart. He didn't react but she felt the organ miss half a beat at the contact.

"Don't flatter yourself," he growled, turning away. That of course was her cue to leave but she stayed exactly where she was. Her eyes followed his restless pacing up and down the room like a caged animal for a couple of minutes.

"Mr. T?" she finally asked, breaking the silence. He stopped and looked at her, arching an eyebrow when she didn't continue straight away, urging her to speak. "Last night... what we did, you an' I, that was jus' a... a one-time thing?"

"Care to elaborate?" The barber sounded genuinely confused... and slightly hopeful, she realised.

"Well," she started, "the two of us make quite a pair, don't we? You doin' the killin' an' me cleanin' up after you... problem is, love, that's not enough anymore."

The barber smiled a predatory smile and walked toward her, leaning in ever so slightly and mimicking her earlier actions perfectly. "Mrs. Lovett, are you telling me that you have taken a liking to _shaving_ people? I never took you to be one for a career change such as this." Calloused fingers came to rest on her bare shoulders, causing her to tremble slightly which couldn't go unnoticed by the barber, seeing how focused he was on her.

"As I said yesterday... there is a lot you do not know about me." Her voice came out rough and a tad more seductive than she had planned- or he had expected, judging by the way his eyes widened.

"Very interesting," he murmured as he backed her up against the nearest wall, the tension between them building more quickly than it had the night before. It felt like the air itself was on fire. Mrs. Lovett swallowed hard, for a moment lost in the barber's lust-filled stare and his hands on the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. "But who is to say I would want to share the experience with you again?"

Oh, he was playing dirtier than dirty now, one of his hands leaving the wall to trail down the side of her body and up again, '_accidentally'_ brushing her breast. She felt her determination falter, almost ready to start tearing his fucking clothes off, but tried to keep her breathing more or less even and at least fight back a little bit by hooking her petite fingers through his belt loops and pulling him flush against her body. Both, barber and baker, gasped as his semi-erection pressed into her.

"I might 'ave to force you," she purred, one hand trailing downwards while holding his gaze.

He chuckled sarcastically at her remark, not noticing when she stole one of his razors from his belt. The baker leaned up, teasingly licking along his jaw-line, eliciting a groan from the usually composed barber. That somewhat threw her off track for a moment, causing her own sexual frustration to build further. After regaining some of her control she flipped the blade open and started kissing down his neck until she reached his pulse point where she began sucking at the sensitive skin. When he was least suspecting she- _reluctantly_\- replaced her lips with the cool silver.

Sweeney Todd's eyes shot wide open.

"Eleanor..." he said huskily, no fear in his voice but utter befuddlement on his face.

"I know, I know '_y'didn't think I had it in me'_" she rolled her eyes, pressing the blade further into his pale skin, "'s gettin' old, Mr. T."

"Do you intend to kill me just to prove a point?" He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. They were both very well aware that he could escape her grip on him easily and was merely humouring her by staying in his role as a victim for once.

Mrs. Lovett laughed. "'Course not, you silly man. I just wanted to 'ave your undivided attention for a moment, is all. An' it worked, di'n't it?"

"You had my attention before."

"Oh no, not at all," she teased, her other hand leaving its place at his belt, boldly cupping him through his pants, pleased when his eyelids drooped slightly and he thrust his hips once.

"For _Fuck's sake_, woman, what the bloody hell _do you want from me_?" he yelled in frustration and leaned in to smash their lips together. The baker stopped him by moving the razor from his neck to his lips, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. This was just too much fun.

"I want you to _beg_, Sweeney," she said, her voice smooth like the honey she had added to his forgotten cup of tea, "Like I have begged countless times before."

"Not going to happen," he said around the blade, earning himself a cut. "I'm not a whore like you."

The insult stung a little bit but she was beyond caring, torn between her want for him and her desire to kill again, which had snug its way back into her consciousness. "Am I your whore, then?"

"Damn right you are," he growled, grabbing her hand and easily freeing it of the razor which he tossed somewhere behind them before he finally- _finally-_ closed the distance between them and connected their lips in a heated kiss. She all but whimpered as he pushed her further into the wall, hands on her waist, possessively holding her close. When her tongue darted out to lick his lower lip she could taste the blood on it, impossibly adding to her arousal. Sweeney grabbed one of her legs and was just about to wrap it around his waist when he stopped, intently listening to something. A smirk found its way onto his face and he leaned in for an enthusiastic kiss before letting go of the baker altogether.

_E's gone bonkers_, she thought as he unlocked the door to his shop, motioning for her to hide. It didn't take long until she understood though. There was someone walking up the stairs. A customer. A _victim_. Her desire was immediately replaced by bloodlust.

"Sit, sir, I'll be right with you," said Sweeney, still slightly breathless. The man, a bloke she didn't recognise at all and therefore thought was probably a safe choice, took an unsuspecting seat in the chair while the barber picked up the razor from the floor, not even bothering to wipe it clean of the dust and dirt covering it. "My assistant will be charge of the shaving cream," he said matter-of-factly, looking her straight in the eye. The baker nodded and went to fetch the bowl of said shaving cream before awkwardly spreading it on the bloke's face until Sweeney's lips were at her ear, telling her to stop.

He went to stand behind her like the night before, placing the razor in her hand and covering her fingers with his own. His other hand came to rest on her waist, holding her close to him while he moved the razor to the man's neck. "Slow or quick?" he asked, casually inquiring how much pain she wished to inflict upon their victim. _Just when she thought loving him more was impossible..._

"Quick," she replied, barely able to contain herself. He nodded, a grave expression on his face, and yanked the silver blade across the bloke's throat in one swift motion, blood splattering everywhere. The baker immediately turned around and attacked his lips with her own, absolutely ecstatic. He kissed her back, dropping the razor once more as one hand came up to rest on her cheek. She was the one who pulled back this time. "We di'n't think this through."

"Pardon?"

"There's still a body in the bake 'ouse from yesterday and now we 'ave 'im as well," she explained gesturing toward the corpse slumped in the chair.

"I'll help you," the barber offered.

"_Sweeney Todd_ offering ta 'elp? What's gotten into ya, huh?" She chuckled while he rolled his eyes and let go of her completely, already stepping on the pedal to make the body disappear.

"Oh, there's _a lot_ you do not know about me, Mrs. Lovett," he replied mockingly, throwing her own words back at her. "Now come on, I do believe we were in the middle of something before that git came along and I would like to waste as little time as possible until we can get back to where we left off."

Mrs. Lovett smiled, realising this was, in fact, as close to begging as he'd ever come.

He had a slight head start and was already halfway downstairs when the door to the shop flew open once more, revealing a boy who couldn't be much older than Toby had been. "Message for Mr. Todd," he announced, holding up an envelope.

"I'll give it to 'im, lad," the baker said, ushering him out the door and replacing the envelope in his hand with a coin before he could catch a glimpse of the blood-soaked floorboards.

"Thanks, ma'am, 'ave a good day, ma'am!" the boy exclaimed gleefully, running down the stairs and toward the market. As soon as he was out of sight Mrs. Lovett went back inside and locked the door, curiously eying the letter in her hands.

Once she recognised the handwriting she almost fainted, ripping at the paper until she could read what was inside, almost positive her heart stopped while her eyes flew over the few messily written words.

_Mr. Todd,_

_I am happy to inform you that the honourable  
Judge Turpin  
Has decided to accept your offer_

_He shall be present tomorrow precisely at noon  
Be prepared_

_Faithfully  
B. B._

She had to read the letter four times until she was convinced it was real, feeling hatred boiling in her veins at the mere thought of Turpin and how he was the one to blame for her foster child's death. Soon enough he'd be gone, she told herself with determination, hiding the letter in her apron to make sure Mr. Todd would never see it.

When he asked her in the bake house who had been at the door she shrugged it off. "Jus' some lad, asking for directions. Showed 'im the way an' off 'e went." The barber didn't look convinced so she added something she knew he wouldn't question. "He reminded me of Toby."

In a way that statement wasn't even a lie.


	4. chapter four- Sweeney's POV

SuperWhoLock.

That's the short version of why I didn't update. Long story? I'm a fandom whore and nothing more. I did my best to write this story and keep you guys happy and the quality up... and it was going so well! I loved writing this so much! Then- kaboom- Supernatural happened.

And god-motherfucking-damnit did I fall in love. Slowly and then all at once.

For some seriously messed up reason I am incapable of writing for more than one fandom at a time, though. You tell me why that is, 'cause I got not the faintest idea. And that's when the plot bunnies started hopping over to the other side, because the grass seemed greener there. Also, the fandom is more active since the series is still running and that's kinda nice.

Don't get me wrong, I _love _you all, really I do. Your support has been amazing and I'm sorry I left you guys hanging.  
I also still love the movie, the music and the actors of Sweeney Todd... it's just... different now. Gah, this feels so much like goodbye... (It's roughly 4 a.m. and I'm being emotional okay, sheesh)

Anyway, pointless rambling is pointless.

I hereby promise you that I'll finish this story in the next chapter, I'm on summer holidays, I got enough time. And I think I still owe the characters some relief of the sexual tension, don't you think? So far, as a writer, I'm a merciless cocktease.

Disclaimer: Alas, it's still not mine and has never been. I only borrow Sweens and Nellie and have them do dirty stuff.

Thank you for all your reviews so far!

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**BLACK HEARTS**

**chapter four**\- _Sweeney's POV_

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As he descended the stairs first down into the pie shop and then further into the bake house below he noticed that his landlady was not right behind him. While he was not exactly bothered by that fact it still made him shake his head and mutter '_bloody woman_' under his breath because he simply did not understand the baker at all most of the time. In one moment she was smitten and swooning over his every movement, in the next she thirsted for blood in a way that rivalled even his own craze. And he begrudgingly admitted to himself that it drove him insane, in a quite positive way. He wanted her. Wanted her like he'd never craved another being before.

It wasn't like the bittersweet love between Benjamin and Lucy, far from it. This other life had been ruled by soft caresses and chaste kisses. Now, with Eleanor, there was raw animalistic lust and it was dark and messy and utterly exciting. He heard his shop door open and the muffled voices of the baker and someone else and stopped to listen more closely in curiosity. When he heard nothing further, the barber smiled to himself, a crooked grimace on his pale features, as he opened the heavy door, briefly acknowledging the fact that the tiny woman seemed to do this so easily while it required actual strength and effort. He ought to give the thing some credit for her work.

Even more so, he realised, as he regarded the pile of meat and dirty clothes that had once been the scum walking London's streets. A feeling akin to pride welled in his cold chest as he admired their work. The throats had been cleanly cut, even in the haste of their last kill, so driven by desire and the thrill that both of them got from the streaks of rubies on flesh. The baker had quite grown on him, the one constant tangent in his pitiful existence, the sole companion he allowed himself to have.

Mentioned companion came waltzing into the bake house, breathing slightly harder than she should be if one considered she walked up all these steps a multiplicity of times a day without exhausting herself and even _running_ down them couldn't cause such laboured panting in comparison. It made the barber suspicious and he narrowed his eyes once she joined him by the bodies. "Who was it?" he asked, referring to the intruder upstairs. Mrs Lovett smiled just a tad too brightly and shrugged her slender shoulders as she assured him that it had merely been some lad who'd lost his way. He knew she could plainly read on his face that she was far from selling the story to him but his features softened somewhat when she quietly mentioned Toby.

This once he let her have the lie but decided to keep an eye on her.

They began their task of separating the clothing from the lifeless bodies before they could start the work on the meat. He took a great dislike on the labour. The corpses were grimy, their pockets lacked possessions, especially the man they had killed the night before emitted a smell that was mercilessly assaulting his nostrils made infinitely worse by the sticky unmoving air in the basement. After only a few minutes he growled and threw the pair of disgusting undergarments from him- how did the baker do all this on her own?

"What next?" he demanded gruffly, resting calloused hands on his hips. His companion started at his voice and spun to face him with a look of shock as if just now remembering his presence. The barber raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She stared at him with her doe-eyes, swallowed once, then another time and then shook out of her stupor, seemingly back to her old self, chatting away in a rambled mess of sentences he didn't even attempt to understand. He tried to mirror her motions as best as he could, chopping up a body while she took care of the other. Sweat formed on both their foreheads and soon he felt the need to shed a few of his clothes. The barber shrugged out of his suspenders so they hung loosely by his sides and unbuttoned his shirt as far as it would go, the buttons stopping halfway down his chest. His sleeves, already previously bloodied by their kill, were rolled up. It was the furthest state of undress he'd allow himself, yet it was far from being enough. The suffocating heat crept into his lungs, filling them not with oxygen but with the heavy odour in the air. Mrs Lovett appeared to be unaffected, though that was likely to be traced back to the fact that this was a daily routine for the baker. What gave away her discomfort, however, was the fact that she kept tugging at her corkscrew curls in failing attempts of keeping them at the back of her head instead of her face. He recoiled from reaching out to brush the hair away when he realised his hands were covered in guts, blood and muscle tissue. His apologetic shrug as his hand dropped back to its place was answered with a half-smile from the baker. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead to swipe away stray droplets of sweat but the action caused reddish-brown blood to smear on her skin.

A good hour later the pair stood side by side with two piles of meat at their feet. "Jus' put it in the grinder, love. It'll do the rest o' the damn work," the baker told him, already grabbing two arms full of human flesh and body parts before throwing it into the oversized meat grinder in the room. Mirroring her actions he gathered half a pile in his arms and did as he was told. In a matter of minutes the only thing reminding of the two victims was the dark stain on the floor below the trap door leading down from his shop.

"Now," he murmured as he crossed the distance between them, encircling the baker's hips from behind, "I believe we have something to get back to." The barber stroked down her sides, one hand creeping below her apron and causing something she kept in her pocket to rustle.

To his grand surprise and irritation Mrs Lovett went rigid in his arms and yanked herself free from his grip. He stared blankly at the woman who protectively raised a hand to cover said pocket as if she was protecting or possibly hiding something from him. "Mr T, we're awfully dirty," she almost stuttered the words out, eyes darting nervously about the place. "An' I don't know 'bout you but I woul'n't mind a bath, y'see..."

"A bath?" he cocked a suggestive eyebrow, rather liking the idea of the two of them in her spacious iron tub. His pinstriped pants grew quite a bit tighter at the imagery his devilish mind provided. "Sounds agreeable."

"Very well!" her exclamation sounded somewhat shrill in his ears and caused him to flinch away slightly. "So I go and get myself cleaned up an' then the tub's all yours." Her behaviour was already beyond raising his suspicion, he was absolutely certain the baker was keeping something from him. And something of import, too, considering how uncharacteristically the damn woman acted. In a rush of motion she went past the barber and disappeared up the stairs.

Wondering what in the name of Hell itself had just bloody happened Sweeney Todd glared at the heavy door through which the baker had gone and blinked a fair number of times to regain his composure. She really wanted him to beg, didn't she? The whore truly wished for him to plead for her to come to bed with him... or his chair, or the damn _floor_ for all he cared as long as he got to have her, goddamnit.

As he finally gathered himself enough to ascend the stairs in a much calmer manner than the baker had before him he still couldn't do anything but shake his head the woman's sudden irritability and overall oddness. He positioned himself in front of the door leading to her washroom and more or less patiently awaited her emerging from there. Inside he heard the water splash against the iron of the tub, again thinking of all the things he could be doing if he were on the other side of that door and in the water with the baker. Licking his lips he already somewhat desperately willed the scenes playing out in his head away and knocked forcefully against the worn wood of the door.

"Be out in just a moment, dear," called Mrs Lovett from within. And really, only an instant later she swung open her door and stood face to face with him. Or rather face to chest, as they collided with a slight _oomph_.

"My apologies," he said roughly, though he allowed his voice to hold an almost affectionate tinge. The woman in his arms seemed a lot less out of the ordinary than she had during her scene in the bake house. "May I?" he asked, brushing past her into the small washroom, almost completely filled out by the iron tub, before she could respond in any way. Although he remained uncomfortably hard in his pants he had lost the desire to bed the little baker, too annoyed by her mood swings.

The irony that she, ever since his return, had had to put up with _his_ mood swings and never so much as whispered a single complaint was lost on him.

"'S all yours," she assured him as she straightened her gown and walked down the corridor, if one wanted to call the narrow hallway that, and retreated to her bedroom. It made him glance to the nearest window and grunt in surprise. Outside the sun was already setting, which meant they had spent almost the entire day downstairs working off their arses... and there had been two of them and no shops to take care of. Usually the woman did all of the bloody work on her own and still managed her booming pie business on the side.

She truly was a wonder, this one. His bloody wonder.

With that thought he rolled his shoulders, shrugged off the funny little almost forgotten feeling of fluttery warmth he had secretly come to associate with the baker as of late and went to have his admittedly much needed bath. He went to bed a lot less satisfied and in consequence a lot more frustrated than he had thought he would that morning.

.

The next day the barber awoke in his chair at a later hour than he usually did. He could tell by the angle the sunlight came in through the windows to paint the walls in its light. That was... odd, to say the least. Normally the he would rise long before the sun and use the early hours of the morning to plot his half-hearted revenge until the baker would appear with the food he almost never consumed.

No baker was anywhere in sight and of course his damnable stomach chose this day precisely to growl in hunger. Begrudgingly Sweeney stood and stretched his aching limbs, sore from the labour in the bake house. He dressed himself hastily and rushed down into the pie shop to inquire the whereabouts of his morning nourishment.

"Mrs. Lovett?" he called out, "Eleanor?"

His landlady sat at her shabby kitchen table and jumped- quite literally- at her name, hiding something from his sight the moment he rounded the corner. It made him stop in his tracks and frown at the woman across the room. "Oh dear, forgot all about your breakfast, I did!" She said breathlessly and went quickly to prepare something. He huffed and walked over to her, stopping the baker by grabbing one of her wrists.

"Do you really believe me to be stupid?" he asked coldly, staring her down with a glare he knew perfectly well the threatening effect of. Mrs Lovett shook her head ever so slightly, red curls flying about her head wildly. "Then please explain to me, why you think I'd be oblivious to the fact that you're so obviously hiding something from me."

His landlady laughed nervously, not meeting his eyes. "I'm not hidin' a single thing from you, love, 'ow could I?"

He regarded her with a _stop-fooling-around_ look and tightened the grip around her wrist, surely leaving bruises on the pale flesh. The woman better not forgot who he bloody well was. "You've always been a terrible liar, Eleanor." His tone was informing above anything else. "Now, the question is, my love, do you hand over whatever it is you store away in your pocket or... would you prefer me taking it by force?"

The woman was clearly panicking now and he already believed to have won, apparently having the upper hand as he so often did. What he did not at all expect was the tiny baker suddenly throwing herself at him with all the strength she could so spontaneously muster and crashing their mouths together rather painfully.

At the unforeseen contact his mind went blank and he, in his astonishment, let go of Mrs Lovett's wrist in order to hold onto her waist, immediately deepening the kiss as all the unsatisfied arousal came crashing down upon him once more. He pried her lips open with his tongue demandingly and licked into her mouth with more greed than when he cut a throat and watched the blood spill. The baker mewled and fought back with her own tongue, gasping into the kiss as if in surprise though she had been the one to initiate it.

With little effort he lifted the baker off the ground and onto one of the flour-powdered countertops, their bodies pressing further together when her legs wrapped around his hips and the friction eliciting an involuntary moan from the barber.

The only thought his preoccupied mind could form was _good God, finally_.

Petite fingers worked themselves into his hair, deliciously massaging his scalp, slightly tugging at the black mess, while they were still kissing with so much passion and freely flowing want- he was at that moment more than grateful for the support offered by the kitchen counter.

"Mr T," his landlady half-hummed as they were attempting to catch their breath while still not quite moving their mouths away. "Sween- _ah_\- Sweeney," her words became a mumbled gasp as he latched his mouth onto her neck, sucking hard to make sure he would mark her. "W-we _can't- customers!"_

He ignored the bakers warning, faintly aware of the fact that her shop was open and any soul could just wander in on them locked in their passionate embrace. Limbs untangled themselves from around him and his partner resolutely pushed at his chest. Why he complied, albeit reluctantly, was somewhat of a mystery to him in retrospect but at that moment he stepped back.

"You will be the death of me," he told her honestly, running a hand through his hair before he admired the quickly forming bruise on the baker's neck. "Not Turpin, not the labour in fucking Australia but you, Eleanor Lovett, you will surely kill me one of these days."

At the mention of the judge the baker visibly paled and cringed vaguely, which was no wonder considering what the man had taken from her so very recently but soon her features softened and the colour returned to her complexion. She reached out and stroked his cheek, mumbling with a slightly teasing voice, "Ah, we wouldn't want that now, would we?" A wink eased the tension further and he couldn't, primarily did not want to, resist another kiss.

"I might go out to the market square-"

"That's a wonderful idea, Mr T!" The baker sounded strangely enthusiastic after the simple declaration and hopped off the counter, shoving him toward the door. "You go an' get yerself somethin' ta eat, must be quite peckish by now, I'd think. Meanwhile I'll fix up me next batch o' pies and when you _return_..." He effectively shut out her pointless, and further endless, rambling. The little redhead pushed him from her shop out into the street where she told him to take his time and rewarded his endurance with a lingering kiss which he melted into like his pathetic past-self would have done.

After the kiss the baker pulled away and swirled around in one smooth movement that had him suddenly holding onto thin air. His eyes followed her back into the shop where she went rushing about as restlessly as she always did until he noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the damp cobblestones. On a gut feeling he decided it might be something worth reading so he picked it up. In a way he knew was practiced and inconspicuous he slipped the flying paper into his pocket and wandered into the general direction of the fruit stalls at the market nearby.

In the background the clock at St. Dunstan's struck noon.

The barber, indecisive as he was, bought nothing but a single apple when he couldn't settle on another fruit when faced with the assortment of products. He strolled casually along the streets, moving seemingly unseen through the crowd and eyeing the scum he was surrounded by with blatant disgust. At a corner he stopped and slouched against a dirty house wall in a side-alley to inspect the paper he had pocketed back in Fleet Street.

As he read through the lines the half-eaten fruit in his hand dropped into a puddle of piss. This had to be some kind of fraud. Surely the handwriting was forged, _surely_ the baker, if coming into the possession of such a letter- obviously addressed to him and meant for his eyes only- would have handed it to him.

Except that she would not.

Of course not. Abruptly it all fell into place now because everything that had seemed so odd about the baker made bloody sense all of a sudden. The way she had seemingly stopped her pained mourning and returned to her controlled self- it hadn't been all that different when Benjamin had begun to plot his revenge- and then her open desire to kill with him. Certainly, he had seen his own pleasure reflected in her eyes... but for her it had also been a means of practice.

The letter, _his_ goddamn latter for the sake of Christ, joined the apple in the stinking puddle and the barber, remembering he'd already heard the church bell ring, broke into a sprint toward Mrs Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium, his movements spurned on by a toxic mixture of blind rage, a strange sense of anticipation and- though he would swallow his own tongue rather than admitting this even to himself- a heavy load of concern for the baker who was quite clearly out of her mind.

When he rushed up the stairs to his own shop his lungs felt like they were about to burst yet he took two steps at a time, a deep predatory growl breaking from deep within his throat as he yanked at the door so hard it broke off its hinges and fell into Todd's Tonsorial Parlour.

Inside he saw the familiar figure of Judge Turpin slumped on the wooden floorboards, the baker standing above him in the centre of the room, one arm raised high up in the air and holding one of his friends, dripping his rubies. She had taken his revenge.

Sweeney Todd broke the silence with a broken yell as he leapt at the woman.

Mrs Lovett stood perfectly still.

* * *

Cliffhanger-ish, I know, I'm an asshole like that.

Stay tuned!


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